Angels Fall First
by moonlightmusic
Summary: ,,It's not... your fault, " whispers Castiel as he fights to keep his eyes opened.


A/N: I have written this months ago but am posting now because I am lazy couldn´t find the time to do it. Also, I found out that there are two other stories with the same title and, guess what, mine was inspired by the same song (Angels Fall First, Nightwish) as houseling´s . Isn´t that funny?

Perhaps are muses know each other.

* * *

Angels fall first

´It´s not... your fault,´ whispers Castiel as he fights to keep his eyes open. His vessel´s body is a mess, clothes ragged and bloody, and the angel himself is in no better shape. Dean suspects that it´s his true form´s wounds that reflect themselves onto the vessel and it makes him choke a little.

Especially considering what happened was exactly his fault. His mind rejects to even think about it, so he turns his thoughts to something else.

The evening before the final battle for the last Seal, everything had been quiet. The evening after it, everything is quiet. How ironic. The battle itself was a huge chaos, filled with too many blurring faces, too many different voices, too many wounds and deaths to distinguish between them. But somehow this is different.

Maybe because it´s Castiel, the one who pulled him from hell. Maybe because they sort of have a history together, with the angel carrying vague orders to him and saying cryptic sentences for the past – Dean doesn´t even know how long. Or maybe simply because he started to care for the guy, like he seems to do for every innocent caught in the crossfire lately, even though Castiel is more than capable of looking after himself and is hardly an innocent, being an angel and all.

But – who cares, right?

When Castiel is dying in his arms, right now. Drawing in more and more shallow breaths, holding on sheer will. Looking expectantly at Dean.

So he smiles, or tries to, because it feels as if he´s forgotten how to smile anymore (except the sarcastic ones), and as he does, he feels moisture on his cheeks and a lump forming in his throat.

´Cas,´ he says, and then stops. There are no words to say, and so he shakes his head. ´Just... ´ _don´t die, stay with me, I won´t let you. It can´t end like this. No._

A tear falls on Castiel´s face and mixes with blood, leaving a small trail on his cheek. His eyes are bright, not yet clouded, and there´s a message in them.

_Don´t throw away your life because of the way this ended_, they say. _You´re worth it, and much more. You´ve still got Sam._

And then they turn upwards, to the sky, and this time Castiel mouthes the words.

_Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit._

And he´s gone.

Dean sits on the ground cradling the broken body until it starts raining.

The next day they burn the body and Sam doesn´t question him once, not even when he drinks himself under the table. For that he is glad. It is easier not to think. Not to have to cope. So he does it again and again, until he´s drunk almost constantly.

Few weeks pass, and after a fierce argument with Sam, he stops the drinking and loses himself in the hunt instead. But even the Winchesters are human, and as such they can´t go like this forever. They have to eat, drink, and sleep. Another dead end.

So far he has told Sam he doesn´t want to talk about it a zillion times. He can see Sam´s worries and knows denial isn´t the best strategy, but it´s the only one he knows, and so he goes on.

He´s getting better and better at pretending the mask he´s wearing is real during the day, but at nights everything changes.

He doesn´t dream of him every night, like he used to immediately after, but to wake up with a memory of him so strong that his heart aches thrice a week is enough to break his charade.

Sam notices that as well, and seems determined to help him, but Dean refuses. Shrugs off his questions and tells him he´s ´coping´. He just hopes that´ll put him off awhile.

Sam looks like he wants to kick some sense into him, but he stays silent.

That night, Dean dreams again.

It begins the same way as ever. Castiel is standing on the battlefield looking into the distance, enclosed by mist. Scattered bodies are lying everywhere around him. His blue eyes are full of sorrow as he sighs and turns to Dean. Dean´s breath catches in his throat, because his clothing is whole and there isn´t a single injury on his body.

And for an instant, he believes Castiel is alive again.

When the angel opens his mouth, he remembers. Everything. Realises this is another dream and knows what will come next and doesn´t want to look at Castiel when he´ll be ripped to pieces in front of him again. Doesn´t want to see him die in his arms again.

He turns away, waiting for the ripping part to begin, listening for the sounds he doesn´t want to hear ever again, and he is trying so hard not to allow the dream to break him some more, that he doesn´t notice that the dream changes.

Castiel steps closer to him, each step echoing in Dean´s ears, and places a hand on his shoulder. A warm, uninjured hand.

Then he turns Dean around and smiles. ´Dean,´ he says. ´You look awful.´

That makes him smile, too, as he answers: ´No shit.´ And asks: ´What are you doing here? You´re dead.´

And it feels natural, like things were supposed to be that way, like Cas should be dead and he should be okay with it.

´I am,´ agrees Castiel, ´but you´re not. Dean, you have to let go.´

´What do you mean?´ asks Dean, although he is quite sure he knows what Castiel means.

´You have your own life to live. Don´t waste it looking back at what was. Look forward to what will be.´

Castiel´s eyes pierce his own and strange warmth spreads from his hand that rests on Dean´s shoulder.

´I am home now, and you should find yours as well. Go, and be at peace. The Lord´s blessing is with you.´

And with that he withdraws his hand. The mist enclosing him turns into a golden light, and Dean has to close his eyes against its intensity.

Just before the light disappears, he thinks he hears Castiel´s voice whisper: _I will be always looking after you._

When he wakes up, he feels peaceful and calm. Sam is staring at him, but before he has a chance to say anything, Dean beats him.

´It´s okay, Sammy. Go back to sleep.´

Sam, examines his face, then smiles. ´Slept well?´

´Never better, Sammy. Never better.´

* * *

Please, leave me a word or two about how you liked my fic. Please. (I´m trying really hard not to beg you as if my life depended on it, so... pleeease?)

oh, and let me know if I somehow channeled other fics. Seriously, I´m reading them too much.


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